


Tread Softly

by tonberry



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Exhibitionism, I'm sorry for subjecting you to this Georgi, M/M, Pre-Series, Semi-Public Sex, Yakov and Georgi are here too, semi-public groping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonberry/pseuds/tonberry
Summary: If he thinks of it as a game, it's just something else to win. How long Yuri can keep lying to himself is another matter.Russian translation





	Tread Softly

The game began in the back of a taxi.

He hadn’t _meant_ to fall asleep on Victor’s shoulder – but they’d been up since fucking four am, so who could blame him? It was uncomfortably warm and stuffy, and when he blinked slowly awake it took a moment to orient himself. The faint stink of stale cigarette smoke was nauseating along with the low murmur of the engine. He hated getting carsick. Yakov was sitting in the front passenger seat, ignoring the driver and reading through something on his phone.

Yuri didn’t want to move. It wasn’t _entirely_ comfortable; his neck ached and he kind of wanted to stretch, but that would involve alerting Victor to the fact that he was awake. He dropped his gaze down. Victor’s hand rested in the small gap between their legs, and though he seemed unusually still, Yuri knew he must be awake. Victor _never_ slept in cars. It felt nice, though, cheek against Victor’s shirt, scent so familiar and comforting, though it made his stomach twist. He hated it even at the same time as knowing he wouldn’t pull away. So he shifted, as though moving in his sleep, and let his hand drop down against Victor’s.

Yuri waited.

It took a minute or so, perhaps for Victor to decide he was still asleep, before Victor’s hand moved slowly, cautiously, and threaded their fingers together. _Ha._ Hiding his smirk in the fabric of Victor’s sleeve, he felt vindicated but strangely relieved. A few months ago he thought he’d noticed Victor’s eyes starting to wander; during stretches, after showers… though he’d been beginning to wonder if he’d just been seeing what he wanted to see. He bit his lip as Victor’s fingers started to gently stroke across the backs of his knuckles.

He could still see Yakov’s bulky form in the front seat, so close, and he wondered what would happen if Yakov turned around. It wasn’t much, after all – who was to say it wasn’t perfectly innocent? But Yuri knew the truth. A selfish part of him wanted to expose Victor, just for turning him on so much with only fucking handholding. But that wouldn’t benefit either of them, so he just closed his eyes again and tried not to feel as though he were suffocating.

Yuri hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep again until he was awoken by Victor squeezing his hand. “Yura,” he said, and his eyes were soft, “we’re here.” Yuri glanced down at their hands pointedly, then back up. Victor had the fucking gall to _laugh_. “Don’t look at me, you did that yourself while you were sleeping.” His gaze dropped away as he said it, and it was small solace that even Victor was embarrassed by his shitty lie.

He snatched his hand back and used it to shove Victor away. “Fuck you.” He slammed his way out of the car and made his way towards the hotel without looking back. But somehow, it was like he could feel the prickle of Victor’s gaze on him still.

So it wasn’t much, but that was how it started.

\-----

A few days later they were back on a plane, and just his fucking luck, Yuri had the centre seat again. He hated flying. It was uncomfortable, he was always either too hot or too cold, and sitting between a snoring Yakov and a Victor who wouldn’t shut the fuck up was never his idea of a good time. The cabin had been switched to night mode, so darkness blanketed everything, broken up only by the soft glow of the safety lights and electronics. To his left, Yakov was already dozing, hat pulled down low; Georgi was in the seat beyond, face illuminated and staring intently at the small screen in front of him. Victor was being suspiciously quiet.

“Are you sleeping or what?” Yuri jabbed him in the side with a finger, and Victor slowly opened one eye.

“Why, missing me already?” The smile that curved his lips made Yuri want to smash something. Instead, he just leaned a little closer.

“Nah, your face is looking like you need your beauty sleep, that’s all.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed a little at that, and he brought up a hand to brush aside some of the loose hair that escaped from Yuri’s half-hearted bun. “Yes, well, that’s certainly not something you need, is it.” His voice was low and private, and Yuri felt himself flush hotly. _The asshole._ He hadn’t actually expected Victor to be so fucking shameless about it. But if he wanted to play it that way, all the better.

So he bit his lower lip, and tilted his head slightly into Victor’s warm palm. “I need,” he began, and paused as he watched with satisfaction the way Victor’s gaze dropped to his mouth, “to get out to go for a piss. If you’re asleep you’ll just be in the way.”

Victor dropped his hand and leaned back, strangely docile. “Please, go ahead.”

Casting a quick glance back to make sure Yakov and Georgi were still occupied, Yuri stood and slowly stretched; he didn’t need to be facing Victor to know where his eyes would be drawn to. Which was exactly what he was after – Victor hadn’t made any move to get up to let him out, he’d just relaxed with his head tilted back, lazily watching, and spread his legs slightly to allow Yuri to squeeze between him and the seat.

It was hard to forget they were not alone, even in the dark; other passengers sat on all sides, many not even asleep, faces softly lit. But it was only Victor he looked back at, over his shoulder, watching the glint in his eyes and the fall of his hair as he slid between the seat in front and the press of Victor’s knees. He felt rather than saw the feather-light brush of fingers along the backs of his thighs, and thought for a moment about what might happen if he sank down into Victor’s lap instead, right there in front of everyone.

The moment passed. He slipped out into the aisle, already feeling the loss of the illicit touch. Yuri didn’t look behind him; he knew Victor would be watching him go. As he made his way through the dark and shut himself inside the cramped cubicle, he couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen if Victor joined him. He left the door unlocked for one minute, then two, and finally slammed the lock down with an ugly flush to his cheeks. He felt hot, and wanting, and inexplicably pissed off. He shoved his hand down his pants and ended up leaning against the sink, ledge digging into his back as he fucked his fist and imagined it was Victor. Pretended that Victor _had_ followed him in, and right now was kneeling on the floor of this shitty tiny bathroom, sucking Yuri off with that hot, wet mouth that never knew when to fucking shut up.

It didn’t take him long, and he came into his hand with a low groan, just as a knock sounded on the door from the outside. “ _Shit._ ” He spun around, fumbling the tap with his left hand until water rushed out and he could scrub the stickiness from his other palm and fingers. “Fuck, _fuck._ ” He dried himself off on a paper towel and hurriedly swiped another inside his pants, because he was suddenly really fucking paranoid he hadn’t caught it all. Turning to leave, he caught his reflection in the mirror and grimaced; he looked like shit.

What he had not been expecting was Victor waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall across from the bathroom door, a half-smile on his face with one finger pressed up against his lips. “You were taking a while,” he said softly, then took a step closer to lean forward, warm breath ghosting over Yuri’s ear. “Are you all right? I didn’t hear a flush.”

And then he was gone, shutting the bathroom door firmly behind him with a prompt _click_ of the lock falling into place. Yuri swallowed, another wave of annoyance and arousal flooding through him at the thought of Victor being in there right after he’d jacked off. Biting his lip, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way back to their aisle. Yakov was still sleeping, now snoring loudly.

Fucking Victor.

He pulled his hood down over his eyes and pretended to sleep; whatever Victor would have to say when he came back, Yuri didn’t want to hear it. He must have fallen asleep, because he didn’t remember Victor returning. The next thing he knew was that when he woke up, the cabin still in darkness, Victor’s head was resting against _his_ shoulder, eyes closed and breathing softly in sleep. Yuri froze. What the fuck was he supposed to do with this?

It was different, somehow, having Victor this close, looking so vulnerable. Despite how much time they spent together, Yuri rarely got to see him this way . His chest felt as though it were constricting, and it made him want to lash out at something rather than have to _think_ about whatever it was they were doing. Teasing Victor was fun, right? It didn’t matter that he _wanted_ Victor to respond, because he still wasn’t sure how far Victor would take it. Only trying in public made things safer, somehow. It was easier to think of it as a game, that none of it meant anything at all.

But he realised, then, staring down at Victor’s usually punchable mouth, that he really, really wanted to kiss it.

\-----

For the next couple of days, nothing much happened. Yuri withdrew a little, still trying not to think too much about the fucking mess of emotions inside him. But Victor seemed to be holding back, too. And if there was at least one thing in all this Yuri _was_ certain of, it was that he didn’t like that. Regardless of anything else, he knew he wanted Victor. And he was going to get him, even if it were just the once.

Coming back from a long trip and having to go almost straight to a fancy fucking dinner with potential sponsors was _not_ something he was ever going to be thankful for. Unfortunately, jet-lag or not, he didn’t get a choice; Yakov always threatened to limit his rink time if he so much as showed up ten minutes late.

And so it was that he ended up in a high-class restaurant in Moscow, in an uncomfortable suit he hated, with a tie that Victor had retied for him about five times in an effort to “teach” him. Well, that part hadn’t been so bad – Victor’s fingers against his neck, tightening the knot just enough to make his breath hitch and heart skip.

“I’m glad you agreed to this tie,” he’d said, smoothing the silk of the fabric down against Yuri’s chest. “It brings out your eyes.” Yuri had just glared at him, though Victor’s smile had been strangely genuine, something that always made it hard for him to know how to respond.

These dinners were always the worst. Making polite small talk, trying to remember which piece of cutlery to use when – Yuri hated this kind of shit, but at least Victor and Georgi were here so he had someone to copy and take the attention off him. It was the kind of restaurant with deep red walls and tacky chandeliers, soft piano jazz playing in the background. Thankfully Yakov and Victor handled most of the conversation, because Yuri was in no mood to make nice.

Victor sat across from him, the perfect vision of attentive politeness. It was probably why he got so many sponsors; he could be a charming fuck when he wanted to be, and it pissed Yuri off because no one else _knew_. No one knew Victor like he did. The way one moment he could treat you like you were the only person in the world who mattered, and the next display his viciously cruel sense of humour with a remark that would make you feel like nothing. Yuri hated and craved it all. What would the sponsors think if they knew Victor wanted to fuck his fifteen-year-old rink mate? The thought made him smirk, and Victor raised an eyebrow at him from across the table.

Yuri lifted a shoulder in a way that he hoped projected exactly how few fucks he gave, and poked at his salad. Even at these shitshow dinners they weren’t allowed decent food. You’d think Yakov might make an exception, but he was a hardass as always. Fuck, he couldn’t even remember the potential sponsor’s name. Not that it mattered, since they were more interested in Victor anyway. And so was he, to be honest. Speaking of which… Victor was turned away again, absorbed – or at least pretending to be – in what the representative was saying. _Not for long._ Yuri slouched in his seat a little, working the shoe off his right foot. Then he just needed to extend his leg out a bit and—

Yuri hid his laugh in a cough as Victor let out an undignified gasp, and watched the colour flood his cheeks. Yakov was looking at Victor like he was crazy, and it was _far_ too entertaining watching him try to recover his composure, all while Yuri was still rubbing his toes gently along the line of Victor’s inner thigh. _Thank fuck for long tablecloths._ Victor didn’t look across at him, though, just brushed hair away from his eyes – and Yuri could see the slight tremor in his hand – and focused his attention entirely on the other side of the table, lips set in a tight smile.

That was fine with Yuri. He slid a little lower in his seat, and with it his foot inched up Victor’s thigh. Victor picked up his wine glass and drained the last of it, fingers clenched so hard around the stem Yuri thought he might snap it. “This is lovely wine,” Victor commented, voice strained, “don’t you think?” How long would Victor be able to hold out? His face was prettily flushed, and though others might think it was from the alcohol, Yuri knew better. One hand kept pushing his hair back in a compulsive gesture, the other still gripping the wine glass even though it was now empty.

When Victor was finally free of conversation he relaxed a little, at last turning his gaze on Yuri, eyes narrowed, but there was a twist to his lips that made Yuri think he was slightly impressed. Victor had not, after all, closed his legs even an inch. He placed his empty glass down and waved over the waiter, not taking his eyes off Yuri even for a second as the glass was refilled. But Yuri wasn’t intimidated, not this time. So it was with Victor staring intently at him, that a strange mix of bravery and heat filled him, and he pressed his socked foot directly against Victor’s crotch.

He saw Victor’s lips part, the wetness on them from the wine, and wanted to lick it off. Victor was already hard beneath his toes, and Yuri slid his foot gently up and down, biting his lip and wondering if they’d really be able to get away with this. They were surrounded by people, after all, but maybe no one would recognise the glazed look in Victor’s eyes. Maybe Victor would have to stand up. What would he do then? Try and hold something over his lap? Run off to the bathroom? Both scenarios made him shift uncomfortably, and fuck this because _he_ wasn’t supposed to get hard, it defeated the point.

Would he be able to get Victor to come in his pants like a teenager, just from the touch of his foot? Probably not. But fuck, he wanted to. Wanted to see Victor come undone in public, lose his fucking implacable composure so everyone could see what he was really like. The insanely reckless part of him wanted to duck under the table himself, unseen, and mouth at the expensive fabric straining over Victor’s dick until it was wet with spit and come.

But he stayed in his seat, pleasant smile plastered on his face, even answered some questions about his plans for next season – his foot pressed up between Victor’s legs the entire time. Victor remained quiet unless someone addressed him directly, eyes flitting between Yuri and whoever else was demanding his attention. But they couldn’t hold it completely; Victor was Yuri’s, and willingly so, legs still shamelessly open where no-one could see.

The final ten minutes of the dinner passed in a haze, and Victor ended up leaving the restaurant with his coat draped over his arm, carefully hiding his front. He shot Yuri a dark look before walking ahead with Yakov. Yuri gave him a mock salute and hung back with Georgi.

They were in the car on the way back to the hotel when Yuri’s phone buzzed. When Victor’s name appeared, he glanced up and across at him, but Victor was staring resolutely out of the window at the speeding lights in the darkness. He opened the message:

_#1312. Come to my room at 11._

Yuri stared at it for a moment, a thrill running through him. Fucking _finally_. But… he closed it without replying. He still had the upper hand for the moment, and was in no rush to give it up just yet.

By ten pm he was back in the hotel room he shared with Georgi; Victor had his own room, but Yakov preferred Yuri to be with someone who could “keep an eye on him”, like he was some kind of child. It was just a fucking hotel room, what was Yakov afraid of? Yuri turned his phone over in his hands, smirking. Well, maybe something like this.

The lights were already dimmed. Georgi snored softly in the other bed, unmoving. Bringing up Victor’s message on his phone screen again, Yuri came to a decision.

 _no_.

He sent back the single word answer, and waited another five minutes before sending a follow-up.

_you come to MY room._

He changed into his loose sleeping pants and t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower and cool against his neck. The next few minutes dragged – Victor must have read the messages by now, but no reply came. Had he already decided against it, and tossed his phone aside in order to get himself off alone? Yuri scrolled through Instagram restlessly, liking photos while hardly even registering what they were. He almost dropped his phone when it finally vibrated.

_I’m the one with a single._

True, but ultimately irrelevant as far as Yuri was concerned. Privacy was not exactly what he was after right now.

_and how do u plan to explain a 15yo wandering the hallways at 1am??_

There was another lengthy pause. When his phone lit up again the message preview showed him only one word:

_Georgi?_

Yuri smiled. He had him now.

_Sleeping. Tread softly._

When a knock finally sounded at the door, Yuri almost didn’t hear it. As he slipped off his bed and padded over in bare feet to open it in the semi-darkness, Georgi muttered something in his sleep, turning over with a sigh. Yuri’s spine prickled. What was he doing? Was he trying to ruin them both? But the anticipation in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t let him back out. The door handle was a shock of cold beneath his fingers. He opened it gently, the _click_ seeming as loud as a gunshot in the tense silence.

Victor leant with one arm against the doorframe, still in his shirt and tie from earlier, hair hiding one eye as he looked down at Yuri. “You wanted me here?”

Yuri stared at him for a moment, before grabbing his tie and tugging him into the room. A mistake: the door swung shut unchecked, and they froze as the sound caused Georgi to stir. When he resettled, finally, Yuri lifted his chin at Victor defiantly. “Sure you don’t want to back out?” He kept his voice to a whisper, and he could tell just by Victor’s expression that he had no intention of leaving.

“Lead on.”

Yuri flushed when he realised what Victor wanted and tightened his grip on Victor’s tie, pulling him towards his bed. He paused when the backs of his legs hit the mattress, and as he hesitated realised something in Victor’s expression was softening. _Fuck that_. Moonlight fell through the narrow gap in the curtains, lighting up Victor’s hair. Yuri yanked on the tie again, Victor’s mouth coming down to crash against his own. It fucking hurt, but adrenaline was rushing through him and he could hardly think straight with Victor’s tongue in his mouth.

He gasped, before remembering they weren’t alone, biting his lip and glancing across to the other bed. Victor seemed content without Yuri’s lips – he moved to kiss Yuri’s cheeks, his temples, his throat, hands sliding up under Yuri’s t-shirt, pushing him down against the bed and crawling on top of him. Part of Yuri wanted to protest – that _he_ should be the one taking control, making Victor fall apart – but the rest of him was drowning in it: the warmth and weight of his frame, the scent of his cologne, the way Victor moved down his body and looked up at him like he was the only one who mattered.

Victor hovered over his stomach, hands still moving under Yuri’s shirt, brushing his nipples. “What do you want, Yura?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, mouth curved in a half smile. Yuri swallowed. He could almost forget they weren’t alone, but not quite. If Georgi woke up now…

“Suck me,” he said, more loudly than he’d intended and not nearly as confident. He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question. But Victor just grinned at him like it was everything he’d been waiting to hear, and gave up stroking Yuri’s chest so he could swiftly pull down his sleeping pants. Yuri shivered, hands clutching the bedcovers beneath him, entirely fucking exposed while Victor was still fully dressed. “Do it,” Yuri whispered, and let his head fall back against the mattress when he felt the heat and wetness of Victor’s mouth on him. It sounded so loud and vulgar in the silence of the dark room, almost overwhelming.

His mouth felt dry and breathing ragged; it was embarrassingly soon but he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. Propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at Victor is what undid him; his lips around Yuri’s cock, wet with saliva; shirt rumpled and collar loose, one hand down his pants fucking his own hand like he couldn’t even wait.

“Victor…”

At the sound of his name Victor looked up, pulling off as though he meant to say something. It was that expression, the eye contact, that made Yuri clap a hand over his mouth and come, choking quietly into his fingers. Victor groaned too, long and quiet, hand movement slowing, eyes squeezed shut with Yuri’s come dripping down his face. _Fuck_. Yuri lay back, his heart seeming as though it was trying to beat out of his chest, and groped for Victor’s tie again, pulling him up.  Victor’s mouth twisted into a wry smile as he squinted out of one eye and used Yuri’s t-shirt to wipe off his face. He kissed his way up to Yuri’s jawline and gazed at him, expression abruptly serious.

“What now?”

Yuri felt hot all over, exhausted and exhilarated all at once. He hadn’t planned this far. “You’re heavy,” he mumbled. “Get the fuck off me.”

Victor rolled off him, fixing his trousers as he did so – or attempting to, anyway. Yuri sat up, hugging his knees. It felt strange watching Victor here, in the darkness, clothes creased and now stained, hair out of place. Then Victor looked back at him, and Yuri’s throat tightened. _He_ was the only one who got to see Victor like this, and he realised he wanted to keep it that way. For the first time there was a shade of uncertainty in Victor’s eyes, and though Yuri’d thought it would make him feel powerful, it mostly made his heart clench.

He glanced over at Georgi’s sleeping figure, still unmoving, then moved forward onto his knees and kissed Victor softly. “Go back to your room,” he said, and suddenly this was fucking frightening. If they were alone, it no longer seemed like a game. “I’ll follow you up in a bit. I can always say I got up early.”

Something in Victor’s expression relaxed, and he nodded, rubbing at his cheek. “I need to take a shower anyway.” He reached out and brushed a thumb over Yuri’s cheekbone. “Alright?” And then that fucking smile was back, familiar and maddening and everything he wanted.

“Go away,” he hissed, “I said so, didn’t I?”

Victor kissed him.

And he knew, then, that the world couldn’t have this side of Victor; that he didn’t want this to end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [neuroglam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam) for making this fic better in many ways, and [theloyalmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoyalMouse) for inspiration and endless pretty art!
> 
> find my tumblr [here.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/issushaim)
> 
> AND neuro wrote an amazing fic to accompany this one! please read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11091243)!


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